


Miss Simon

by ss10009



Category: Mediator Series - Meg Cabot
Genre: F/M, PWP, Porn, Roleplay, Smut, Teacher Kink, and i immediately used this as an opportunity to make the characters bone, i am so horrible, i apologize for the roughly 9 pages proceeding the porn, i don't deserve this series, jesse is hot for teacher, meg cabot provided us with new mediator after all these years, post-remembrance, remembrance spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ss10009/pseuds/ss10009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remembrance-inspired smut. Suze decides to teach Jesse a lesson Miss Boyd probably missed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Simon

     I would like to start by saying that I thought sex would have quelled the beast of desirous longing within me. Wasn't that how it was supposed to work? You get turned on and then you have actual sex instead of swimming laps in the pool to work out your frustrations. And actual sex does the job a lot better than an hour at the pool.

     But I had figured out over the course of the past six months that I had been wrong. I mean, yes sex is definitely better than swimming, but having sex just made me crave it more. I'm not sure if the large volume of sex Jesse and I had managed to have was due to the regular honeymoon effect or was related to the fact that we'd waited for eight years before finally getting down to business. It was like the universe was trying to get us to cough up back payments on all the sex we'd missed out on, and we were hurrying to pay the balance off as quickly as possible.

     I hope that explained why my mind was likely to wander off down a corridor filled with memories of what I'd done with Jesse the day before and fantasies of what I wanted to do to him the next time I saw him at any given time. Either that, or I was a raging pervert. It was probably the pervert option though, considering that Jesse didn't think about sex all day since he would've been fired immediately. It's typically frowned upon to tend to patients while sporting a massive hardon.

     And I know I don't have too many points of comparison, but trust me, what Jesse has is pretty massive.

     If it wasn't I wouldn't have had to make excuses to Sister Ernestine about why I was walking awkwardly when I'd come back from lunch the other day. Jesse had offered to pick me up from the Mission at lunch time, so we could have a picnic lunch together. Things have been busy for him lately, what with opening his own practice, but he makes it a point to try and have lunch with me. And since Jesse still works the night shift in the hospital in the meantime (because the thought of not having income aside from his grant does not sit well with him), he's typically free and awake at lunch time.

     But the best laid plans of mice and men don't mean boo when your husband is sitting in his BMW, wearing a pair of straight-fit jeans, sunglasses, and a button down that reminds you of how perfect his chest is. It was no surprise that we wound up driving back home to Pine Crest Road instead of down to the beach.

     So once I got back to work, my gait was a bit strange, and my stomach was empty. (We hadn't even made time to go upstairs to our bedroom let alone grab something from the fridge.) I'm married and everything, so what I do with Jesse is fine in the eyes of the Church, but I did not want to talk to Sister Ernestine about my sex life under any circumstances.

     Both to my pleasure and dissatisfaction, today’s lunch involved eating. We'd made plans to meet up at the Happy Medium with Cee Cee and Adam, who was back in town and maybe sort of in the “on” position with Cee Cee recently. There was really no telling with those two.

     So even though there were two buttons undone on Jesse’s shirt today, I had to keep my hands to myself. If we both decided a minute after arriving that “something urgent had come up,” they would know exactly what that urgent something was, and Adam would never stop teasing me about it. Besides, we had to at least try to put up a front that we weren't deranged sex maniacs.

     I was the last to arrive, and I dropped into my seat next to Jesse and gave him a quick kiss. Adam’s mouth twitched, and I could tell that he was holding himself back from saying something along the lines of “What? No kiss for me?”

     That was what he'd said verbatim the last time we'd all met up anyways. Jesse’s face had not been amused, and Adam had taken that as a sign to tone down his comments in future. I didn't think anything or anyone could convince Adam to do that, but I guess 180 pounds of glaring Spanish-American male who'd previously been arrested on charges (later dropped) of assaulting someone who'd tried to make moves on his girlfriend could get anyone to change their ways.

     Jesse wasn’t really into the whole vegan vibe of the Happy Medium (ranching families from the 1800s weren't particularly into veganism), but he ordered a BLT where the “B” stood for bread while I ordered a salad chock full of chickpeas. I had to remind myself that the only reason we’d come here was that the service was quick and friendly--mostly because the service was Gina and cee Cee’s Aunt Pru. Neither of them could join us though because the café was only mostly empty, not entirely so.

     “How's the practice coming?” Adam asked after we’d all placed our orders.

     “I signed the papers for the lease last month, so now we're in the process of renovation and hiring staff.”

     Jesse always said “we” when it came to the practice he'd secured a grant for a few months back because I was going to be set up there as a therapist in a few months. There would be healing for your body and mind. Except way less homeopathic sounding and more backed by legitimate scientific and medical research. Since I'd finished grad school a couple of weeks ago, I’d be ready to leave my post as the Mission’s guidance counselor as soon as the practice opened its doors. I was ready to leave earlier and help Jesse in setting everything up since the Mission wasn’t paying me or anything, but Jesse was determined to get the brunt of the work done by himself.

     “Let me know if you want to take out any help wanted ads in the Pine Cone,” Cee Cee offered.

     “As long as none of the ads call for sexy nurses,” I said.

     I couldn’t see it, since I was sitting next to him, but I could practically feel Jesse rolling his eyes.

     “Aw, Suze, sexy nurses are the best kind. Who’s going to give all the sponge baths?” Adam asked.

     “You do know it’s a pediatric clinic, right?” I said.

     “Fine. Who’s going to give your dear old friend Adam a sponge bath when he comes by to visit.”

     It was my turn to roll my eyes then.

     “Don’t worry about any ads, Suze. I’m sure all the talent will be left to the sexy psychologist,” Cee Cee said.

     “Thank you, Cee Cee,” I said.

     I didn’t say it out loud, but the talk about sexy nurses made me think about sexy doctors. Jesse was a doctor, and a certifiably sexy doctor at that, but we’d never really taken advantage of that fact. Whenever he suggested that we “jugar al médicos” it was only just a euphemism (it used to mean “let’s make out” but now it meant “let’s fuck”). Which was a pity considering how doctors were up there with librarians and babysitters and teachers when it came to naughty potential.

     And then I thought about teachers and Miss Boyd. And that get up I still had in the back of my closet from when we'd gone ghostbusting at Sacred Trinity. By the time our orders had arrived, I had concocted a plan.

     The conversation steered away from the practice and towards the alumni newsletter and then to the beach and then to the fact that Adam was thinking about maybe, possibly coming back to California for good soon.

     I couldn’t read Cee Cee’s facial expression on that last point, but from the lack of surprise, I guessed he’d mentioned it to her earlier. Maybe they were more firmly in the “on” position then I’d realized.

     Jesse walked me back to my car once lunch ended. He placed his hands on my shoulders as I stood in front of the driver’s side to the Land Rover, the car that had been in the Simon-Ackerman family since before I’d moved to Carmel from New York. His hands were warm, as always, and big and tendony.

     “I took on a double shift and changed my schedule soon, so I’m free tomorrow night,” Jesse said. “I made us dinner reservations at half past six on Ocean Avenue. Can you make that?”

     “I mean, I guess I could pencil you in,” I said jokingly.

     Jesse grinned lopsidedly, and my heart melted a little bit. “Thank you for your consideration,” he said. “Don’t forget to wear something nice.”

     We were at the point of saying goodbye, what with the little remaining time on my lunch break slipping away, when the plan I’d had early slammed itself into the forefront of my mind. Tomorrow. I was going to put everything in motion tomorrow. I couldn’t hide my devious smirk when I realized Jesse had no idea what he was in for.

     “Thinking about something?” Jesse asked. His voice was a suggestive whisper, low and husky. By his tone I could already tell he knew exactly what I was thinking about. Well, not exactly what. If he knew exactly what I was thinking about he might have had a half a mind to be ashamed enough to put a stop to it. In some regards, sex with Jesse was, as Gina put it once, “vanilla.” It was phenomenal sex, mind you, just not the kind of sex that happened in dirty pornography.

     I changed my smirk to a smile as innocent as I could make it, considering the subject at hand. “You'll find out later,” I said.

     “I plan on holding you to your word,” Jesse said, but his lips were too close to mine, so I couldn't pay attention to what he was saying anymore. His kiss was cruel: brief but not bereft of passion. I knew I'd be fanning myself once I got back to my desk at the Mission.

     See, this is the problem. How was I supposed to get anything done when, more than six months into having a sex life, Jesse’s lips brushing over mine was still enough to make me shiver?

     I tried to kiss him again, but he laughed and eased me into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover.

     “I’ll see you later, querida” he said before he relented and gave me another kiss. On the cheek though, not on the lips.

     “Later” wasn’t until the next morning. Jesse had already left for his shift by the time I made it home at 3:30, and I didn’t wake up whenever it was that he came home. Jesse was passed out by the time I woke up, and I’d figured he’d be sleeping well past noon.

     I couldn't help but peer at his face anyway. It was totally guileless, and if there had ever been in any darkness in it, it was all gone now. When he slept you'd never know he'd gone through a journey of more than a century and a half to get to where he was now. His breathing was deep, and the sunlight streaming in through the bay window made his skin alive with rays of light.

     I tore myself away from the beautiful sight of my husband, a word which I still got “the feels” from saying, and got out of bed as quietly as I could. If Jesse woke up and happened to catch a glimpse of me in my Proper Lady attire, the entire plan would be ruined. For one thing, the element of surprise would be moot. For another thing, I would wind up being so late to work from the resulting sex (half asleep or not I didn't think Jesse would be able to keep his hands off of me like this) that Sister Ernestine would have a conniption.

     Jesse didn’t wake up, and I made it to school on time less than an hour later. The only thing Sister Ernestine gave me was her approval. She looked me over briefly before telling me that I looked like a respectable young woman. Coming from Sister Ernestine, that was basically the highest praise possible to achieve. I love Jesse, but nineteenth century gentleman or not, I don’t think I’ll ever really understand what it feels like to be more attracted to your girlfriend when she’s dressed closer to an extra from _Little House on the Prairie_ than _Sex and the City_. I guess it wasn’t that much of a problem though since he was most attracted to me when I wasn’t wearing anything at all.

     I sent Jesse a text at around two. I figured he'd be up and fully functioning by then.

     

     The nice thing about lying to Jesse was that he couldn’t tell I was doing it when it happened via text message.

     His response came a few minutes later.

      

     I knew that word at least. I did a little math in my head and figured that if reservations were at 6:30, then 5:00 would be fine. That would give me two hours for the school to clear out and another hour and a half for the fun I had planned.

      

     I watched as the typing bubbles disappeared and a new message from him appeared.

      

     Did I mention Jesse found out about emojis? He doesn't think they're “manly,” but he still knows exactly when and how to use the winky face. In a weird way, I’m proud of him.

     The last hour of my day was far from eventful. I’d had a visit from Becca, who came by occasionally, glowing a little more each time, to let me know how she was doing. Thankfully, she either didn’t notice or chose to say nothing about the fact that I was wearing her old non-prescription glasses. And then I had a brief chat with a mother who was thinking about enrolling her bipolar son in the Mission Academy.

     Typically, I am all for having an easy afternoon. The more time I have to myself, the more online window shopping I can do. I fill up a cart with all of the clothes I’d own if I came into a billion dollars, and then I empty it. It’s therapeutic. But today, I found my fingers drumming my desk more often than not.

     “You alright, Suze?” Miss Diaz asked.

     “I’m fine,” I said, and I stopped drumming my fingers. I started to tap one of my feet instead, but the noise coming from the sole of my kitten heels was quiet on the carpet.

     I didn’t say another word to Miss Diaz, who was texting someone, probably the track coach who doubled as her somewhat secret lover, Mr. Gillarte, until a few minutes past three when she started packing up her things to leave.

     “You’re not going home to that doctor of yours, Suze?” Miss Diaz asked. Miss Diaz is both in a relationship and more respectful of the fact that Jesse is off limits than most women who thirst after him, but I still see her give him the old hairy eyeball every time he comes to see me at work.

     “I will. Just not until I get some more work done first,” I replied.

     Miss Diaz accepted this nonsensical excuse (I’d never once stayed late to finish up work) and left, probably to go see Mr. Gillarte.

     Sister Ernestine was less convinced when she walked into the administrative offices an hour later. She raised an eyebrow and said, “What brings you to stay this late, Miss Simon?”

     “Organizing files,” I said hurriedly. I quickly pulled a folder off the shelf behind me at random and began to paw through it at warp speed.

     Sister Ernestine made a “hmm” noise. She clearly didn’t believe I was dedicated enough to spend an extra hour here to do housekeeping. After all, I’d let my desk here be more or less in total disarray for over a week after Lucia, Becca’s old ghost friend, decided to make a mini earthquake and put all of the papers I’d already organized out of place.

     “Don’t forget to lock up once you leave then, Miss Simon,” she said.

     “Will do, Sister,” I said brightly as I continued to pull and replace papers in the folder.

     When she had retreated, I stuffed all of the papers back into the file folder in the correct order and continued to bide my time until the clock struck closer to five. Once there were only fifteen minutes standing between me and the kinkiest sex of my life (thus far), I stood and walked across the room to the key control cabinet we kept in the corner. It was left unlocked, as always, until the janitors stowed away the last of the keys.

     I didn’t replace my key (I would have to do it afterwards, seeing as I hadn’t locked up the administrative offices yet), but I did grab the key for room 133.

     I had taken some liberties as an administrative assistant to figure out which classrooms were in use when by finding the master list of schedules. As it turned out, room 133 hadn’t been in use last period, which meant the custodians had probably already gotten around to cleaning it. And I didn’t plan on turning on the lights in the room either, what with their still being plenty of sunlight outside. In other words, Jesse and I would only face a minimal risk of being interrupted. I can do naughty teacher kink, but I’m not really into exhibitionism.

     Jesse called me after I’d turned off the lights in the administrative office and had made my way into room 133. I had just finished clearing the teacher’s desk and was in the middle of writing on the chalkboard in the prettiest cursive handwriting I could muster when I heard “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” blaring from my phone.

     I picked up the phone.

     “Susannah? Where are you? I see your car, but I don’t see you.”

     “I’m inside still,” I said.

     There was a pause. “Are...you coming out at any point?” Jesse asked.

     “Eventually,” I said, “but you’re going to come in first. There’s something I still need to do.”

     “I’ll see you at your office then,” Jesse said, and I could tell he was about to hang up, so I spoke my next words quickly.

     “I’m not in my office. I’m in classroom 133. But, um, if you have trouble finding it, don’t talk to any of the custodians. Just call me back, OK?”

     “OK,” Jesse said slowly. I could tell he was getting suspicious, but I was pretty sure he hadn’t figured out my intentions just yet.

     “I’ll see you soon,” I said, and Jesse repeated the same goodbye.

     I fidgeted nervously as I tried to put on my most stern teacher face. If I didn’t brace myself, I was going to see Jesse’s face and lose the will to go through with a convincing roleplay. If I wanted this to live up to the fantasy I’d put in my head over the past twenty-four hours, I was going to need to stay in character.

     I was wondering if I should undo the top button on my blouse now or save it for later when I heard the knock at the door.

     “Susannah?” Jesse called before he twisted the doorknob to enter.

     I quickly unfastened the top two buttons on my blouse, and I cleared my throat before I looked at him in the most cutting manner I could. I tried to channel myself from years ago, when I’d first met Jesse and had him squared away in the same category as all of the other NCDP’s I’d met over the course of my life. To my credit, when his eyes met mine, I could see surprise in his face from being greeted this way. Of course, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for that look to fade and give way to an entirely new expression.

     Hunger.

     He had noticed what I was wearing, and he looked less taken aback and more downright predatory now. It would be very, very easy to drop this whole act and just get to the main course. I could practically feel my lower regions pulsating in time with my own heartbeat.

     But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t waiver.

     “You’re late, Mr. de Silva,” I said sharply.

     Jesse looked down at his watch bemusedly. “Susannah, it’s exactly five o’clock now,” he said. “I’m on time. In fact, we’ve got plenty of time for...other things.”

     I couldn’t help but glance down to confirm exactly what kind of “other things” that Jesse had on his mind. He was wearing a suit and tie, and there was a rapidly developing bulge at the front of his suit pants.

     I ignored it for now and kept going. “That’s Miss Simon,” I said, just as sharp as before. “And if you could take a seat, then I could begin your lesson.”

     The bemused expression on Jesse’s face didn’t budge for a few moments, but then a light of recognition dawned in his eyes. He kept standing there in the doorway though, and for a second I thought he wasn’t going to go with it. I thought he might just roll his eyes at all of it and pin me up against the wall. I wasn’t going to complain about that or anything, but I had gone out of my way to set all of this up for (mostly) his benefit.

     But instead of doing away with the scenario, he nodded and said, “I apologize, Miss Simon.”

     Which meant that this was happening.

     Jesse took a seat, front and center, right in front of the teacher’s desk. I was willing to bet almost anything it was the same spot he’d occupied back when he’d been a kid in Miss Boyd’s class.

     “May I ask what we’re learning today...Miss Simon?” Jesse asked.

     “Français,” I replied smoothly.

     I hadn’t been sure what subject I was going to pretend to teach to Jesse. Jesse was the one who blew all of the other test scores out of the water on the MCATs. Jesse was the one who asked questions about the Vietnam War in his spare time. Jesse was the one who made sure the house overflowed with books. The most cliché subject I could think of would’ve been anatomy, but, seeing as he was a doctor and all, I wasn’t exactly the one most qualified to teach that between the two of us.

     Which is why I had written “bienvenue” on the chalkboard earlier. All those years I’d spent in French class were finally about to come in handy.

     “French,” Jesse said slowly. “Are you sure you don’t mean...Spanish?”

     I smiled at him from in front of the teacher’s desk. “Do Français and Español sound alike to you, Mr. de Silva?” I asked.

     “No, Miss Simon.”

     “I hope you’re not trying to tell me that you didn’t study, Mr. de Silva,” I said, and I made a little tut-tut noise.

     “Of course not, Miss Simon. Education is...very important to me,” Jesse said. His voice got lower and sounded less like an attempt at being an eager schoolboy and more like a predatory purr, so dark and dangerous I could feel my body shiver involuntarily. “I wouldn’t forsake this opportunity,” he finished, with that dangerous note still in his voice.

     Stay strong, I reminded myself. Stay strong and stay in control. You’re the teacher here, Simon. You’re in control. Get it together.

     “That’s good to know then,” I said, after swallowing. I watched Jesse smile serenely as I did so. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me. “So it means you’re prepared for a little review.”

     “Of course, Miss Simon,” he said.

     He said it with enough confidence that I wondered for a second if he’d taken French with Miss Boyd and my lesson plan would backfire.

     “Let’s start with numbers,” I said. “From one to ten.”

     “ _Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix_ ,” Jesse said slowly and deliberately. His eyes were shining with mischief. “Is that the whole review, Miss Simon?”

     “Not quite,” I said. “Colors next.”

     Jesse was looking at me with rapt attention. Well, not me, per se. He wasn’t looking in my eyes, so much as his gaze was fluttering between my mouth, which was adorned with red lipstick, and my chest.

     “I don’t think my eyes are down there, Mr. de Silva,” I said.

     Jesse looked surprised that I’d called him out on it, but he regained his composure quickly and said, feigning sheepishness, “My apologies, Miss Simon.”

     “Colors,” I repeated. “I’ll say the color in French. You give me the English.”

     Jesse leaned back slightly. He knew, just as well as I did, that this wouldn’t be too hard. French and Spanish and all of the Romance languages had their fair share of similarities and cognates, especially when it came down to basic concepts like colors or numbers.

     “Vert,” I said.

     “Green.”

     “Violet.”

     “Purple.”

     “Noir.”

     “Black.”

     “Bleu.”

     Jesse raised an eyebrow this time, the one with the scar in it, before he said, “Blue,” and then followed up by saying, “Are you certain that this is the review you intended, Miss Simon?”

     I responded to that by saying, “Jaune.”

     The word for yellow in Spanish was amarillo, which sounded exactly nothing like jaune. Jesse had not anticipated this, and so he paused.

     “Did you underestimate my review, Mr. de Silva?” I asked while he sat there silent.

     “Yellow,” Jesse said finally, and then he grinned lopsidedly in a way that made me want to remove all of his clothing as quickly as possible. “Did you underestimate _me_ , Miss Simon?”

     “Maybe I did,” I admitted. “It doesn’t matter though. I can make it more difficult. Let’s do something else.”

     “Alright,” he said, and I could hear the challenge and desire in his voice. “Let’s.”

     “Since your French is trés bien, I figure we can do the same exercise with real phrases this time.”

     And it happened again. Jesse tossed that lopsided grin at me, and I regretted every choice I'd made so far today because none of those choices involved throwing him down and doing unspeakable things to him. And I could tell by the grin that he thought he was getting close to doing some unspeakable things himself.

     Well, he was wrong. This was not the end of what I had in store for him.

     “J’ai mal à la tête,” I said.

     The grin disappeared near immediately as Jesse realized he had no idea what I was saying. After all, “j’ai mal á la tête” and “me duele la cabeza” sounded exactly nothing alike.

     But his mischievous grin returned a few moments later. For a second, I thought maybe he really did know French.

     Until he said, “Hmm… Could it mean, I would like to kiss you?’”

     “Get your mind out of the gutter. It means ‘I have a headache.’”

     “I have a headache,”Jesse repeated flatly.

     “J’ai mal á la téte,” I said. “Repeat after me.”

     And then we said the French together. I could tell Jesse was confused at this point. He must've been wondering if I actually planned on teaching him some French before our dinner date.

     It was better that way though. With him confused, I mean. It meant that I was in control.

     “Try this one. Je voudrais acheter une calculatrice.”

     Jesse didn't attempt this one. He could tell by my tone it wasn't anything flirtatious. “I'm not sure, Su—Miss Simon,” he said after a few seconds.

     I sighed in a show of mock frustration. “For all your talk about not wanting to ‘forsake opportunities,’ you didn't even study. Did you, Mr. de Silva?”

     “No, Miss Simon, I didn't,” Jesse said. He managed to make his words sound guilty, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

     I stepped away from the teacher's desk towards Jesse. There wasn't much room between where he was sitting and where I was standing, but I sauntered across the short distance anyway. I stood next to him and bent slightly, just enough so that he could have a clear view down the cleavage in my blouse.

     The number of buttons I’d undone earlier wasn't scandalous, but it was more than enough to give Jesse an excellent view. I watched as the direction of his eyes left mine entirely and shifted towards my chest again.

     “I came all the way from New York to be here, and yet you are wasting my time,” I said.

     “I'm sorry, Miss Simon,” he said to me, or, more accurately, to my chest.

     “An apology won't cut it this time. You'll never learn if you're never punished.”

     I could see Jesse biting back another grin as he looked away from my cleavage and made eye contact with me. When he spoke it was in that same dark and dangerous tone as before. “Are you going to try and punish me?” he asked.

     I didn't answer him. Instead, I said, “Stand up.”

     He didn't hesitate and began to slowly rise from the desk to stand beside it.

     That was my big mistake. Asking him to stand, I mean. Jesse was 180 pounds of muscular, incomparably attractive Spanish-American male looming over me with a dangerous glint in his eyes. The sight of him like that still never failed to elicit a response from me, and I couldn't help but squirm. I was not in control.

     “I'm not going to punish you. But I am going to ask you for a favor,” I said, once my mouth stopped feeling so dry that I couldn't talk.

     “Anything,” he said in a low, suggestive voice.

     I turned away from him to walk back to the teacher’s desk. Again, it was a short distance, but I could practically feel his eyes on my ass the entire time.

     Instead of standing in front of the desk, I chose to sit on top of it this time. I discretely adjusted the skirt as I sat so that the side slit showed an indecent amount of thigh. I crossed my legs very primly at the ankles as though I had no idea about the amount of leg I was showing elsewhere, and I watched from behind my fake glasses as Jesse bit his lip.

     “It's always so stressful for me when you don't study properly. I think you owe me a massage.”

     “Yes, Miss Simon,” he said. He crossed the space between us and put his hands on my shoulders. Since I was sitting on the desk and not in the chair behind it, he had to stand in front of me to touch me. Before I closed my eyes to the feeling of his strong hands massaging my shoulders, I made eye contact with him briefly, and upon seeing his eyes, liquid black with lust, I wondered how we had managed to play this game for as long as we had.

     I tried to spread my legs so that Jesse could get in between them and closer to me, but the skirt impeded my attempts to do so.

     “You feel tense,” Jesse offered after a few more moments of massaging my shoulders. “Why is it that you have no husband to take care of you, Miss Simon?”

     “I can take care of myself.”

     “Can you? If your shoulders are this way, I can only imagine the tension the rest of you might carry.”

     I tried instinctively to open my legs again, but the damn skirt kept stopping me. He was close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell his scent of wood and vanilla and antibacterial soap, but he still wasn’t close enough.

     “There are so many places that only your husband would be able to reach,” he continued casually. And his hands stopped kneading my shoulders and started to caress small circles in them instead.

     “What are you suggesting?” I asked, and my own voice was suddenly lower than usual.

     “Let me teach _you_ something, Miss Simon,” he said. And then he kissed me, his grip on my shoulders tightening.

     I couldn't help but kiss him back. The feeling of his lips against mine and his teeth nibbling at my bottom lip felt like lightning bolts against my skin. My hands went up to wrap around his neck instinctively as his grip on my shoulders became his grip on my sides.

     When his lips moved to kiss my jaw, I figured I had to attempt to salvage the last vestiges of our role play.

     “This is highly inappropriate, Mr. de Silva,” I said breathlessly as I pulled away from him.

     Jesse eyed me momentarily. “If you thought _that_ was highly inappropriate, then I don't know what you'll think of my next move.”

     And then his mouth was on mine again, and his tongue was in my mouth--aggressive and unyielding. More importantly, Jesse’s fingers were pushing at the fabric of the skirt that had been foiling my attempts to stretch my legs apart. His hands kept pushing until the fabric had bunched up around my thighs and he could stand between them freely.

     I wrapped my legs around my waist and grabbed at his shoulders to pull him in closer. I could feel his hardness through my skirt and his suit. The feeling of his suit against my legs was smooth and cool against my fevered skin.

     The first article of clothing to go was my blazer. Jesse stopped kissing me momentarily to appreciate the sight of me in a snug white blouse and a black skirt that was revealing a lot more than it was hiding. He looked satisfied at this image before he returned to my mouth and started to take care of the remaining buttons on my blouse.

     He started from the top, and I figured I'd help him out and start from the bottom. Our hands met in the middle, and he clasped our hands together. His lips moved further and further down from my lips to my collarbone, which he kissed a wet line against, to the swell of my left breast, which he bit into lightly, causing me to gasp, before he withdrew his hands from mine and pulled the blouse away from my body. He made quick work out of removing my bra as well, and it joined my blouse and blazer.

     Jesse pushed me back against the desk. I wasn't touching the desk with my back, but I did have to put my hands on the desk, instead of on Jesse, to balance myself.

     Once Jesse’s mouth returned to my body, or, more specifically, to one of my nipples, my head tilted back of its own accord, and there was no stopping the moan that fell from my lips. One of his hands began to touch my other breast so it wouldn't feel like it was the Jan Brady of the two.

     I tried to lift one of my hands off of the desk to get a start on removing some of Jesse’s clothing, but I realized that if I wasn't using my hands to stay balanced, I'd have to use my abs instead. It was incredibly unfair to require real exercise during erotic roleplay.

     A third option came into play shortly.

     Jesse’s other hand, the one that wasn't on my chest, pushed me flat against the desk. Once our bodies, his entirely clothed and mine mostly not, were flush against each other, I resumed my mission of trying to get some of his clothing off.

     He humored me and pulled back to shrug off his suit jacket and toss it on to the desk he’d been sitting at. I propped myself up slightly to watch.

     “Leave the tie,” I said just as his hands started to work at pulling it loose.

     Jesse raised an eyebrow but was otherwise obedient. He loosened his tie but left it mostly in place as he proceeded to remove his shirt.

     When his body returned to mine, he kissed my lips instead of my breasts and pulled me close to him. I reveled in the sensation of our chests pressed against each other. I could smell him clearly, wood, vanilla, and soap, and his skin was just as feverish as my own. I was starting to feel slightly lightheaded.

     I broke the kiss so that I could press my mouth against his neck, right above the neck of his tie. I knew better than to leave hickeys because he couldn't exactly show up to work in a turtleneck, but I knew exactly how much pressure it took to make him groan.

     Jesse’s neck tilted to the right slightly, and he groaned right on time as my teeth pressed lightly against him.

     He pulled back slightly to redirect my mouth back to his, and his hands, which had previously been on the desk beside me, began to push at my skirt again. I shifted to help him move the fabric of the skirt over my thighs until it bunched around my waist. Once my skirt was up, his fingers brushed across my wetness immediately.

     Jesse pulled back in surprise at the fact that I had forgone any underwear today. He looked up at me with lust burning in his eyes and said, “Miss Simon, did you come here with the intention of seducing me?”

     He didn't give me time to respond before two of his fingers dove inside of me. I cried out and dug my fingers into his bare shoulders.

     “Don't know what you're talking about,” I said in a mostly unintelligible response against his shoulder.

     He wasted no time with teasing me and established a quick pace. With two of his fingers inside of me, thick and slightly rough by the feel of them, he brushed his thumb continually across my clitoris.

     That was when the swearing started. I had a bad habit of doing it in normal situations, so it only got worse in situations of sexual duress.

     With his fingers still moving rapidly inside of me and my mind blanking on any words that weren't “fuck,” Jesse pushed me down hard against the desk again. I grabbed at his tie to keep him close in case he tried pulling away any time soon.

     Jesse bent until he was very close to my ear. His breath tickled against it, and his mouth brushed across my earlobe. When he spoke next, his voice was low, quiet, and slightly gravelly. “How do you say ‘I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk’ in French?” he asked.

     My brain short circuited then. Because Jesse never said things like that to me—in English, at least. Thank God he didn’t actually expect an answer because the Mission had never taught me anything along the lines of that phrase.

     “If you’re going to be teaching me, you should really know these things, querida,” Jesse said. He gave me a particular hard series of thrusts with his fingers before he continued, “The Spanish for it is ‘voy a follarte hasta que puede no caminar.’”

     I didn’t mean to cum when he said that. But his fingers curled inside of me at just the right spot, and his fingers were as strong as the rest of him, and he was purring every single “r” sound into my ear, and I couldn’t feel anything but the coolness of the desk at my back and his tie at my front and the familiar warmth of Jesse on top of me.

     For the record, Jesse does have a darkness inside of him. It's just not the kind that destroys me and my loved ones. It was the kind of darkness that caused him to continue his ministrations with his fingers, with his mouth still pressed against my ear, all the way through my orgasm and for several moments afterwards, while I felt raw and oversensitive.

     He lifted me up then and pulled me to a standing position. For a second, I thought that was going to be it and we were done here. But I could still feel Jesse’s hardness straining against me from inside of his pants. I kissed him and grabbed him by his ass, which was very firm, to pull him closer to me. I moved my hands towards his belt buckle and then to his zipper. I pulled it down before I moved my hand to grasp at him through the fabric of his boxers and release him from his prison. I didn't have my hand on him for more than a few seconds before Jesse gripped my arm tightly

     I was confused as to why until he stopped kissing me and turned me around. He pressed himself against me tightly until I could feel every inch of him against my ass. I wiggled myself back against him, and he groaned loudly.

     His next move was to push me against the desk until my chest touched it as he continued to brush against me from behind. He must've been pretty turned on if he'd gone out of his way to put us together in this position. Usually he felt like sex from behind, like this, was “irreverent.” When he couldn't see my face and couldn't kiss me he felt like we were engaging in some sort of transaction at a brothel. Or at least, that was what he’d told me.

     I couldn't believe Jesse was willing to treat “Miss Simon” like a whore.

     He brushed himself back and forth against the wetness of my outer lips for a few moments, and, even though I couldn't have cum more than a minute ago, I squirmed impatiently at the sensation of being teased.

     There was no time to complain though.

     I soon felt him, all of him, push inside of me in one smooth motion. I gasped at the sudden feeling of being filled. There was always something about taking his length inside of me, thick and solid and hot, that made me feel like it was the first time all over again.

     He wasted no time with a gentle pace, and I felt the fabric of his suit pants brush against me each time he returned to fully sheath himself inside of me. Jesse had never bothered to undo his belt and remove his pants.

     His hands braced themselves on my hips to pull me back against him as he pushed himself into me. His rhythm was unforgiving and frenzied, and all of the time that had passed since he’d first seen me in my attire showed with each rough thrust.

     He was saying something in Spanish, but I couldn't decipher it over my own cries. I was already hurdling towards my second orgasm of the evening.

     He slammed into me again, and my body slid up the desk from the force of it. His grip on my hips tightened in response, and I knew I’d have bruises in the shape of handprints by tomorrow.

     After a few more moments of relentless movement and the continuing symphony of sound between the two of us, Jesse’s grip on my right hip slackened and then disappeared. The force he was using elsewhere doubled itself, if that was even possible, as an act of compensation. By that point, I could've gone straight through the solid wood desk if he hadn't decide to slow himself to a less manic pace. The hand that had been on my right hip reached in front of me until his thumb rubbed against me in time with his thrusts. My body jerked in delighted surprise as I came, like waves rolling against the shore of the ocean.

     Jesse didn't last much longer after that. He gave a few more hard jolts before he groaned and pressed himself so deeply inside of me I felt like I would break.

     He leaned forward, and I could feel his tie and the body heat from his chest on my back. The sweat that had developed on the two of us took to the air like steam. The only sound in the classroom was our labored breathing as we tried to regain something akin to composure.

     Jesse spoke first. “I really like this outfit,” he said sheepishly.

     “No kidding,” I replied weakly.

     Jesse pulled himself away from me before helping me to sit on the desk again. He glanced at me in appreciation, like an artist surveying his masterpiece. I wasn't wearing anything but my kitten heels and my skirt, and I was only kind of wearing that. Moreover, most of the hair from my French twist had escaped and was around my shoulders, and I was pretty sure Jesse was wearing more of my red lipstick than I was. I must’ve looked like a before and after from a porn shoot.

     Jesse looked very satisfied with this.

     He then eyed his watch briefly before he said, “It's getting closer to six o’clock. We should leave if we want to be on time for dinner.”

     I knew Jesse didn’t liked the idea of hurrying around in a post-coital state, and I knew that I didn’t, but we were sort of obliged to clean up the classroom. Otherwise, some unsuspecting teacher was going to walk in tomorrow to see “Bienvenue” on their chalkboard and all of their belongings on the ground.

     With our clothing rearranged and the door to classroom 133 locked, I set off to return the keys to the administrative offices.

     We were only sort of mortified when we ran into a very red faced custodian on the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the Spanish I found when I searched around the web. I triiiiiied to avoid using Google Translate (and used only simple phrases), so I hope it’s not too horribly offensive to anyone who actually knows Spanish. Like Suze, I took French not Spanish. (Please don't ever say voy a follarte hasta que puede no caminar. I'm betting it is super not sexy and everyone will laugh. :/)  
> tl;dr I don’t know Spanish at all.
> 
> Cuándo? - When  
> Hasta entonces - See you then
> 
> Bonus French!  
> Bienvenue - Welcome  
> Je voudrais acheter une calculatrice - I would like to buy a calculator.


End file.
